Hot Kerosene wash
rotors chopping the nite
Skipjack Pilot flying by
instruments
Night vision
a few tracers
that the gunships pepper
with the mini's
Loudspeakers aimed
at the ground!
over the roar of the turbine
jet engine
'Wandering Soul" etches
under the webbing
the shaking of the Huey!
Someones snuck in an
advertisement for the Chevrolet
Camaro from a dealership!
Slaps me on the shoulder
scaring the shit out of me
In the glow of the instruments
huddled I can see the smile
from ear to ear!
Somewhere to our eight
is Gunship Sam
Up here the air is cool
a clicking pause as the reels
turn slow..pale needles
trickling like the minutes
I can feel the laces whipped
in the wind...feel my Zippo
and Camels urging me
in my Jungle Jacket
button done!
then
by damned!
In a Gadda Da Vida
we are pumped
hoping they dont have
the twenty mill radar
locked on the hills
Last valley!
No moon!

not even a Leaflet drop
How my smokes fell out
last time!
Gift from Uncle sam
to Uncle Ho!
the blades chop the night
in that comforting drone
We wait for the circuit to
be done....Like wolves
thirsting....Back at base
the debrief
punch open some Tins
of Busch and Bud!
flip open the lighters
and suck in some nicotine
One of the pilots can
snap his fingers and open
his with the flame ignited
We are all tricksters
in Helmets...unslithering
the ball of snakes
in our guts

"Oh wont U comfort me
and take my hand....."
the music blasts!
and for the moment
No tracers stitch
Its all Rock and Roll
baby...
we Wander
like ghosts

....